


Love in a High-Rise Elevator

by TomKurbikston



Category: British Actor RPF, British actor - Fandom, Dr. Robert Laing - Fandom, High-Rise (2015), Robert Laing - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomKurbikston/pseuds/TomKurbikston
Summary: Imagine J.G. Ballard or Ben Wheatley adding a character in the High Rise, Dawn Royal, daughter of Anthony Royal. She would meet Robert Laing at a certain party. What would happen?
Relationships: Robert Laing (High-Rise)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Love in a High-Rise Elevator

He looked lost and somehow desperate. He appeared out of place. In her eyes, he was crisp as an altar boy wearing his Sunday velvet suit. The fabric perfectly tailored to fit his athletic frame was cheap compared to the businessmen she was  accustomed to. His immaculate shoes clumsily sank into the white fleece carpet, making his walk less confident than such a handsome man should own. He was like a panhandler begging for recognition. Well-mannered, he’d thought to bring the usual complimentary gift, a bottle of Riesling. He carried it like a trophy. Yet, he would lose the battle against the expensive French champagne bubbling into the crystal glasses. She pitied him. 

The new man entering the party was apparently Dr. Robert Laing. She had heard of the charming tall doctor, with his stunning blue eyes and blond hair. He was discreet and as well-favoured as people described him. Yet he was even more appealing than she’d expected. He embodied the real people living in the lower levels; those who were mocked by people on her level, but with whom she dreamed of escaping. 

Concealed in a corner of the large living room, she listened to the pompous string quartet. They played modern tunes in an attempt to smear more varnish on the decadent habits of her counterparts. Her dad, the host of the party, invited her only by duty. So, she came to brag and pour sarcasm. She was bored, and started the task she had assigned herself for the night: getting sloshed. This was a task she planned to complete later at a party on the lower levels. 

Laing wasn’t the only one who didn’t follow the dress code tonight. Royal hadn’t informed him, on purpose. For her part, she wore an elegant ruby evening gown, something classy but revealing. This outfit was selected to provoke her stepmother, otherwise she would look like the rest of her kind. Why should she agree to wear a 17th-century corset? Women today were fighting for their freedom and burning their bras all around the country. Not for anything on Earth would she dress like those rotten millionaires; all costumed like fake French aristocrats parading at Versailles, praising “Royal” at the top of his tower, his failing architectural masterpiece in the City’s suburb.

The lanky man was now approaching the  Munrows , a gynaecologist and his ridiculous son. The very idea that her parents wanted her to date, and even marry the idiot boy, made her queasy. She remembered that Laing knew the kid. He was the younger  Munrow’s medical academy professor, and he would have taught her as well, if she hadn’t chosen another career as a physicist. She felt urged to join them. To save him, to rib Baby  Munrow , or to upset her Queen Marie-Antoinette stepmother, she couldn’t say and couldn’t care less. She stepped down the few rugged stairs to reach the fireplace, and the slit of her red dress showed her bare  legs. No, Laing shouldn’t have spoken to the first person he knew. They were already joking at his attire. 

“Please, don’t offend my ‘dilettante’ gallant. He’s perfect to escort me tonight.” She declared to the mob instead of talking to the man himself. 

Baby  Munrow sent a disgusted stare, while Mrs. Royal the second eyed her from head to toe with a disapproving look. So, she smiled with all her teeth and slid an arm into Laing’s. 

Puzzled by her intervention, he said the first thing that came to mind. “You also didn’t read the small print on the invitation?” 

“Oh no, I read it. I just chose to ignore it.” She grinned wider and added “Thanks for the wine. Let me put it on ice.” 

She seized the pitiful bottle and walked away to conceal it from more ridicule. On her way, she met familiar faces who greeted her with short comments, jealousy or fake respect for the “Royal” daughter. After several minutes, she returned to the party again, just as her father’s barking right-hand man, Simmons, convoyed Laing to the exit lift. 

“Simmons!” She interfered, “Where are you going with my beau?” This time, her toothy grin struck as a menace and not a seducing offer of peace. 

“But… Dawn…” stuttered Simmons. 

As a waiter passed by, she grabbed a bottle of champagne from the silver plate, and pursued Laing as he was thrown into the lift. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to party somewhere else.” She waved Simmons a gracious goodbye as the automatic doors closed. 

Eyeing Laing, she said. “I’m sorry. None of them have been properly raised. And apparently neither was I, as I forgot to introduce myself, I am Dawn Royal.” She offered a hand. 

“Please to meet you. My name is Dr. Robert Laing.” He answered holding her hands. His bemused expression hadn’t left him. 

“I know who you are, Doctor. And before you ask, yes, Royal as in Anthony Royal. He’s my father.” 

“I wasn’t aware he had a daughter.” 

“He might be ashamed, so he hides me.” She teased. 

“I don’t understand why. You look like a respectable woman.” He half-smiled.

“Wow, Robert, I think I already like you! But you shouldn’t trust what you see, maybe I bite.” She stared at him, searching for his reaction. 

Laing took her off guard when he raised his eyes and looked at her. He had been avoiding eye contact with everyone, so far. Yet, she basked in his bright blue gaze. She was astonished to feel more than shyness and discomfort. She felt a pain, a sensation to which she could relate. 

“You shouldn’t fuss. Those people are toffee-nosed blighters. Besides, you are rather handsome in your trendy suit.” 

“Thank you. You look stunning in that dress, if I may say so.” He grinned, maintaining eye contact. 

Before she could even return his consideration—a genuine compliment for once—the elevator jerked and stopped in a sharp breaking noise. They both fell silent. But Laing couldn’t help but to bump his forehead into the mirrored walls in despair. 

“Fudge!” He barked. 

“Fudge! Really?” She chaffed with a smirk. 

“I beg your pardon?” He retorted. 

“Fudge. Was it the only word that came to mind? What about Crikey or Blimey?” She chuckled. 

“Do I truly look that uptight?” 

She couldn’t decide if he was vexed or amused. This man was undeniably difficult to read. Yet, she saw more in him behind that pale and flawless figure. Her curiosity was growing, and she decided to find out what his beautiful clear eyes, his neat curly blond hair and his chiselled body would reveal. 

“I don’t know what you are, but I think you are fiercer than you are willing to show. So, come on and try, ‘Fuck!’… Fuck can be pretty liberating.” She peered at him from beneath her eyelashes waiting for an answer. 

“Fuck? OK, fuck!” he calmly said. 

“Fuck!” She snapped. 

“Fuck!” He cried out. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” They chortled together in her melodious laugh and his deep voice, but faded as the cabin only echoed the emptiness of their current prison. 

They were both facing each other, leaned on opposite walls of the motionless lift. Robert dug into his jacket inner pocket for a pack of cigarettes. 

“A shout?” He proposed. 

“Yes, please.” 

He extended the packet, and she seized a cigarette with her crimson-varnished nails. The  ciggie glided between two long fingers and reached her plump red lips. Robert went to stand near her, offering her a blazing lighter. She turned her body to tip toward the flame he protected with his hands. Golden flecks in her eyes sparkled behind the agitated light. 

She felt that something had changed in him. She recognised this look from a man’s eyes. He no longer thought of her as a flaunting, posh heiress, but as an attractive and intelligent woman. She wasn’t surprised. After all, Laing was famous for shagging Royal’s mistress. Her father would be furious if he learned that they were stuck in here together. Never mind, he was probably locked away in his studio, trying to solve his jigsaw puzzle, his architectural masterpiece. 

“Well, our time partying seems compromised tonight. Lately, these technical issues tend to go on for quite a bloody while.” She commented, drawing from her smoke.    
  
“Fuck!” He spoke in an undertone, masking a smirk. 

“As you said.” She sighed, idle fingers brushing his left thigh. She slid gradually down the mirrored wall, and ended up sitting on the floor.

“Fuck! These shoes!” She  complained , taking them off and tossing them away.

Nervously, Laing drew on his cig. He tried to activate the emergency buttons to call the attendant, but they broke off in his hands. 

“I told you! We’ll be here for a while. Nothing works in this building!” She waved the smoke from her face. “At least we won’t be thirsty. Would you like some champagne?” 

He sat down close to her, loosened his tie, and took the bottle from her.   
  
“Thanks.” He said. 

Keeping his eyes on her, he drank it like plain water. 

She pretended not to notice that a strap of her dress had slipped down her shoulder. She didn’t do it by design, but she noticed Laing wasn’t indifferent. She abandoned the strap to where it had settled. His left hand lay flat on the floor—at a finger reach from hers— his whole body turned towards her. He was seated with his right arm on his bent knee, a position more assured and comfortable that he appeared few minutes ago. From now on, she chose to let him lead. She wondered where he would go. She took another puff from her smoke and sipped a drizzle of champagne to change the taste in her mouth. 

He commented, “So, what are you doing here, Dawn? I mean, apart from being stuck in an elevator with a stranger.” 

She sniggered, “Really! Do you really wish to chitchat? I am certain that you are not that conventional, Robert.” 

“You are right. I admit I don’t like to natter.” He exhaled before taking another drag from on his fag. “What do you want to do?” He asked and reached for the bottle. 

“We don’t have to speak. We could just drink alcohol. Then we might … dance, maybe.” 

He nearly swallowed the wrong way, then wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. 

“But there’s no music!” 

He returned the champagne, and their fingers grazed each other. 

“Robert, you have no imagination. Perhaps you should pay more attention and listen.” She proclaimed. 

She cupped her ear with her palm, and as the music was coming from faraway, she sang, “You should be dancing…” 

“Hey, someone is telling us what to do!” She smirked and went on humming. 

Laing laughed, “You must be  sozzled ! Give me back that bottle!” He leaned in to grab at it. 

“No! I am absolutely fine!” Then, she challenged him. “OK, pick up your tune and invite me to dance.” 

Robert stood up and offered his hand to help her stand on her feet. 

“Milady, would you grant me a space on your dance card?” 

“How lovely to think of me. I would be honoured, my Lord.” She smiled, standing in front of him. 

He took her cigarette and crushed both of their smokes under his shoes. Then, he wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered into her ear in a crooner voice, “Come with me, and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination.” They swayed together. 

“I could have bet you would be good at this.” She approved. 

“Shh and listen to the music…” he hushed. 

He had forgotten the lyrics, but kept on murmuring the melody and cradling her cheek to cheek. After an endless silence where they lingered on, swaying, she interrupted the move to relieve the implicit tension. She was enjoying this game too much and needed it to last longer. 

“Doesn’t dancing make you thirsty? I’d fancy a refreshment.” 

“Yes, it does. By chance, I can suggest champagne.” He smirked and stooped to fetch the bubbly wine. “Open wide,” He commanded, holding the bottle above her. 

She laughed and obeyed. He tried to pour the liquid into her open mouth, but it spilled out and flowed down her chin, on her neck, and straight into her cleavage. She chortled, almost choking with laughter.

“I’m sorry. How clumsy of me!” He apologised. 

He lifted a hand to clean her off. His long and thin fingers brushed her lips, and she felt chills along her spine. God, he was a master at this game. He seemed bolder and more inspired than she had expected. She liked this type of man, mysterious and formidable. 

She hoped he continue, but he placed a hand on the small of her back, as he proposed to continue dancing. Again, he drank from the bottle. She watched closely and didn’t miss any detail: his mouth closing on the glass of the  bottleneck, his Adam’s apple rising and falling when he drank. He wasn’t so graceful, because a drop escaped his lips. 

Dawn moved closer and placed a palm on his chest to keep balance. She lifted up on her bare feet, raising her face to his chin. Softly, she licked the little pearl of champagne running from his mouth down his jaw. 

Robert immediately closed his lips onto hers and anchored her with force, two arms encircling her. His left hand stroked her creamy skin from her bare shoulder down to her back. He crumpled the vermilion silk of her gown into his fist and dug his fingers into her small back, then squeezed her butt. She was trapped against him, and she felt his swelling bulge. She melted under his touch, sensing the cold glass of the bottle against her hot flesh. She dove into his kisses. He tasted like champagne, and he smelled like clean soap and spicy aftershave. His gaze was greedy and sweet, his kisses deep. She would love to get lost in his eyes, but it was too much to bear. Instead, she closed her eyes and clutched his shoulders and slipper her fingers into his hair. 

Avidly, he kissed her neck, sucking on her veins and nibbling her fragile skin as she created a tempting path for his greedy mouth by throwing her head aside. As he squatted on the floor, his lips lingered on her body, above her dress, then he placed a careful hand behind her back. He buried his face into her belly, sniffing her, craving her. He bent down just enough to put down the bottle. He stood up. Then, his parted lips almost brushed hers, he touched his nose to hers. 

“You taste like heaven and champagne. God, I need to look at you.” He ordered with a hoarse voice, “Turn around!” 

She turned to face the mirror and watched him standing behind her. His hands caressed her arms and shoulders. She peered into his eyes, now darker and raw with emotion. She could feel his desire, she saw it take him over. She recognised it pressed hard against her. His former fragility had vanished to leave space for this powerful man, determined to get the lead and, in the end, tamed her as she had always fantasised. 

Laing pushed the straps of her dressed aside with lithe fingers, and the silk slid down along her body to the floor. She was almost naked, apart from her tiny red lace panty. Goosebumps formed on her skin, and his dilated pupils told her he had noticed that. Locking his eyes onto her reflection he clasped her breast and belly into his wrapped hands. A fresh wave of hungry kisses surged. He licked and nipped her nape as his vibrant stare was fixed at her image in the mirror. 

He pulled her into his warm and welcoming arms, she surrendered, ecstatic with the emotions she endured. He made her feel alive, like an exceptional and desired woman. She sighed, letting herself go. He answered with a groan as his fingers toyed with her tensed nipples, and his other hand reached her soaked panty. 

“You are so wet for me!” He whispered and his breath caressed her neck. 

Two fingers found a way under the red lace through her bushy hair. By instinct, she parted her legs, giving him access to her aching slit. She moaned as he rubbed her clit in little smooth circles. Her legs were shaking. She gripped his arm to steady herself. Her head tilted back, leaning on his shoulder and she looked toward his face. Her lips let escape another heavy breath, and he captured them into his for more kisses. His fingers fondled her pussy faster. She gasped into his mouth and almost fell as her knees gave way. He held her tight, and she begged. 

“Please, I want more.” 

Carefully, he took her hands and motioned for her to sit down. She sat on her heels and looked him over as he kneeled. It was her turn to be the conductor. She needed to test him, to check how far he would hold before becoming uncontrollable. 

“I need to see you naked! Take off those clothes!” She insisted. 

He removed his tie and tossed it away. Soon, his white cotton shirt joined her ruby dress at the base of the mirrored wall. Languidly, she drew towards him and shoved him backward, pushing him to lie down. Sitting between his extended legs, she held his head with both hands and brushed his lips with her tongue, avoiding each of his attempts to deepen the kiss. She breathed him in, gently bit his bottom lips, sweetly nibbled the corner of his mouth and licked him with relish. When his tongue tried to reach hers, she caressed it between her lips. She shifted back on her heels exposing her heavy breasts which pointed to him. He needed more space, his bulge required to be released from its fabric cage. She unbuckled his trousers and pulled them down, together with his underwear. His length popped out and rebounded onto the left of his belly before resting in its glory. 

She contemplated him. His chest was muscular and his abs were sculpted like a Greek statue. His body was slender, but robust. A few ginger hairs drew a light path to his lower belly where a long and firm cock waited for her. She saw their reflection in the mirror s as a thousand sensual and mesmerising repetitions. 

Again, she bowed down over him, tantalising him with her soft kisses followed by the graze of her fingertips and nails. She chased down each muscle, each freckle and vein, from the bewitching freckle triangle on his neck to the vein on his V-line. She handled his cock and subtly stroked it with her long nails. His breath was raging, and he arched his back with a moan. 

God, her lover was fantastic. He savoured everything she gave him, abandoning his body to her hands. She relished this power, as much as she had loved yielding to him. 

The bottle of champagne was still standing next to them. She caught it and poured the liquid on Robert’s torso, on his length. With the tip of her tongue, she traced the wine flowing from his navel to his pubic hair. She lapped up the fluid on his cock and clamped it into her mouth. Forcefully, she sucked, rubbing its base with her hands. She enjoyed the sensation of him on her tongue. She knew the effect her action had on him. 

He groaned louder, not shy in expressing his pleasure. She was impressed to unravel his demonstrativeness, a true contrast with the tormented man he tried to hide at the party. He gathered her hair and held it back to watch his cock ease into her luscious mouth. 

Dawn stopped her efforts too soon for his appetite. Although her body and core pleaded and longed for him, she was willing to wait. They had time. The lift should be out of order for a while. She comforted him with more lush kisses, while she rubbed her full body on his. She needed to feel as much of him as possible against her burning flesh. 

Robert embraced her and rolled over to lie on top of her. He knew how to play this erotic game and took back control. She would have to wait and see what he would do. Her eyes widened when he emptied the remaining champagne between her breasts. They laughed as he shook the bottle to make the last drop fall. 

“We have no more essential living resources!”  He  chortled . as he rushed down to lick the flooding alcohol on her boobs, drank it on her belly and sank his face in her pussy. 

She spread her legs open as he nibbled and slightly pinched her clit. She handled his member as he was  now  sitting  at her side . She stroked it setting the pace for her own fondling. She grasped one of her breasts with a free hand, and instantly, he was moved to prove he was in charge. He leaned over her breast and bit her  nipples. His kisses were anything but gentle. She cried and begged for more. Again, he placed two fingers on her slit and dug into her pussy, and quickly thrust back and forth on her sensitive spot. Their sex was rough and manifest. Their bodies, their motions and panting were betraying their action. She clung to his shoulders, wrapping her arms around him, while her orgasm was excruciatingly building. He hugged her close, an arm under her shoulder blades. His intense stare was unavoidable, his fingers inescapable. She quivered and wept out her climax. 

That’s how he claimed her. Now she belonged to him as he was the one who had pleased her. Her eyes glistened as he moved his tall body over her. Caressing her lips, he necked her with tenderness this time. She fondled his back, returning his kiss. She couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Her hand moved between them, and she reached his member to guide it to her eager entrance. 

“Fuck me!” She implored. 

“Oh, I love the way you say it!” He smiled and leisurely penetrated into her, large and deep. She felt her inner muscles being stretched one by one, adjusting to him. He throbbed into her, smoothly at first, but with increasing pace and strength. She groaned aloud at every thrust, and let out an occasional thick growl. 

Laing could see that he was too restless and heavy for her to bear his weight. So, he supported himself on his knees, lay his hands flat beside her ribs and placed her legs over his shoulders. She felt him deeper inside, bulky and long. He was quick. She could feel the attention he put in every stroke, every movement back and forth. He stared at her, from beneath his tensed eyebrows, sweat flowing alongside his nose. 

Her body became frantic within this new magical angle. They gasped together, moaned together. She arched her back and stretched out her arms above her head. She gripped the silk of her dress into her fist. He spotted her and felt her contracting. 

“Yes, Dawn come for me!” 

And she cried out. Her legs trembled. Her muscled tightened around his cock. That was enough to bring him a thunderous release. His jaws clenched as he collapsed on her. 

**** 

The next morning, a slamming noise on the metallic door of the elevator awoke her. Someone had arrived to rescue them. Her mind was blurred. She opened her eyes to find herself naked on the floor, her right cheek glued onto Robert’s chest, their legs tangled and his hand lay on her butt. He was snoring. She noticed the empty bottle of champagne lying there. The floor was messy with sticky wine stains, cigarette stubs and their clothes swept all over. She recalled the previous evening, and how they finished their drink. She also remembered that later that night she had pleaded for more sex, which he was happy to indulge. They had been more tender and lazier, but even tipsy it was not less amazing. They might have fallen asleep from the vapour of alcohol and their own exhaustion. 

More bangs sounded on the door and she harshly woke Laing up. 

“Hurry, we have to get dressed!” She guided him to his feet. 

While they battled with their clothes, he spoke, “Dawn, if you plan to be stuck in a lift again, please warn me. I would be delighted to be your buddy in loneliness.” 

“And, if you wish to reclaim your bottle of Riesling, I live a level under Royal. But you might want to take the stairs. We never know…” 

They were laughing as the door finally opened.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHOR NOTES: Oral sex, fingering, straight sex. As I haven’t been writing on my own for a long time (a longer joint venture story is under preparation, but hush) sorry, unwillingly, I might have drowned in a smutty smut. 
> 
> NOTES/ADVERTISEMENTS: As recently, an exchange on how an OFC should look in a Hiddles fanfiction was being reblogged around. Here, I choose not to describe my female character. You can see her as you like. Thanks to my beta-readers @quoting-shakespeare-to-ducks and @deathbyukmen.


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